


secret

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Secret dating, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: “Why isn’t he telling us where he's going?”“I’m sorry, Jon is being weirdly secretive about something and that surprises you?”-Jon keeps going out for his lunch breaks. Tim notices.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 65
Kudos: 578





	secret

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a prompt exchange with [@hello-archivist](https://hello-archivist.tumblr.com/). Our selected prompts: Coffee Shop AU and Secret Dating. Check out his companion piece [here!](https://hello-archivist.tumblr.com/post/628881268604551168/part-of-a-prompt-exchange-with-athina-blaine)

Jon slipped on his jacket, lifting a hand. “I’m going out.”

“Okay, don’t be late getting back,” said Sasha, eyes on the coffee cup as she swirled on a whip cream tower. Over the rim of the coffee maker, Tim glared at Jon as he scooped up his cup of piping hot tea and a sandwich baggie.

“Have fun!” Tim said. “With wherever it is you’re going. Which is, um, where again …? I don’t think I caught it.”

Jon lifted a brow, lips quirking upwards, before shouldering out of the coffee shop, bell chiming pleasantly. Grumbling, Tim returned to wiping down the counter.

“Why isn’t he _telling_ us where he's going?”

“I’m sorry, Jon is being weirdly secretive about something and that _surprises_ you?”

“Well, no, but have you even noticed the sandwich Jon took with him?”

“No?”

“It’s _turkey._ And you _know_ how he feels about turkey.”

Sasha grimaced. “Well, whatever. Jon will share with the rest of the class when he’s good and ready.”

“Imagine that, our Jon being forthcoming.”

“Would you just get back to cleaning out the coffee maker? Keep that cute nose of yours out of it.”

Tim grumbled, but did as such. “As m’Lord commands.”

That earned him an extraordinary eyeroll, and Tim smiled to himself before getting back to work.

A few days later, Tim was putting a delivery box of pastries in the backseat of his car, sighing.

“Well, I’m off,” said Tim to Sasha as he settled into the driver seat. “You’d _best_ not clean the toilet while I’m gone, you hear me? It had better still be nice and disgusting by the time I get back.”

“Sure thing, chief.”

“Christ, _please_ clean the toilet before I get back.” He put on his best pout. With a wink, Sasha gave the roof of his car a goodbye slap.

Technically, they weren’t _actually_ supposed to deliver, but apparently the deal between this nursing home and their store stretched back further before any of them had started working there. And, yeah, the faculty always left a nice tip, but it’s just the principle of the thing, you know? Especially since he was the only one with a car, so the onus of the deliveries always fell on him.

At least he can listen to his own music. Jon and Sasha _never_ let him play his tunes on the store’s stereo. No appreciation for the classics.

The care facility was only about a ten minute drive to the store ( _they’re going to get stale, she says_ , Tim thought with a huff), and the staff was quick to let him in, box of pastries in hand.

“Good seeing you again, Dolores,” he said to the woman at the front desk. “Got a box of cinnamon rolls right here for you, iced to perfection.”

“Thanks, Tim,” said Dolores, smiling. “We really appreciate you doing this for us. The residents just can’t get enough.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. What better way to respect the elderly than bequeathing a box of sticky buns?”

Shaking her head with a grin, Dolores wrote in the tip and her signature, handing the book back, which Tim took without checking. Gripe as he might, the staff at the care home never disappointed him.

He was just at the exit when he heard a voice say,

“Has Martin’s lunch started yet?”

_Huh, that sounds an awful lot like …_

Tim glanced over his shoulder and then spasmed, throwing himself behind the wall. He peeked around the corner to see– yes, no, his senses hadn’t been lying to him, in fact. _Jon_ was _here !_ With that bloody sandwich bag and tea Tim always saw him leave with.

Dolores smiled up at him. “It should just be a few minutes. Want me to call him up and let him know you’re here?”

“Please.”

She picked up the phone and Jon waited at the counter, unusually agitated. Tim checked his phone. Jon’s break started a half hour ago, and Jon had left _before_ Tim. Had he taken the bus or something?

Then, a man came out of the back hallway, and when he saw Jon, his face lit up with a brilliant smile. And even though Tim couldn’t see Jon’s face, the way his posture sparked to life painted a telling picture.

“Brought you lunch,” Jon said, a touch breathless, holding out the baggie and the drink.

“You say that every time, you know that?”

“Well, obviously. Because I’ve brought you lunch.”

The other man (Martin, was it?) chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

And Tim thought, _oh, I see._

They lowered the pitch of their conversation to the point where Tim couldn’t hear it anymore, but it almost didn’t matter. He was too distracted by the way Jon was acting. The laughing, the rubbing his hand up and down his sleeves. So much _smiling_. They’d been friends for years and yet Tim hadn’t ever realised just how white Jon’s teeth were.

Then, Jon checked his watch, and the smile fell away.

“I need to get going,” he said. And then–

And _then_ Jon leaned up on tiptoes and dropped a kiss on Martin's mouth. Nobody treated this for the momentous action that it was; only Martin, whose face coloured a bit. In fact, it all came across as rather natural.

Jon turned heel and began walking towards the exit and Tim experienced a brief flicker of panic. Did he reveal himself? Would Jon want that? But Tim couldn’t just say _nothing–_

Too late, Jon walked past him, Tim scrambling to hide himself, and he was out the door. He was close to a sprint; definitely was running to catch the bus.

Tim waited until he was long out of sight before he ran back to his own car.

He pounced on Jon the second he re-entered the shop.

_“Emergency meeting.”_

“Wha–?”

But Tim was already bullying him to the back of the store and into the refrigerator, dumping him next to the pile of bagels.

“What the _hell_ are you–?”

“You’re _dating_ someone!”

Jon froze, mouth agape. Then, a dark flush stained his cheeks; from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

“Did you _follow_ me?” Before Tim could answer, Jon brought a hand to his forehead. “The cinnamon rolls were going out this afternoon, weren’t they?”

“Yep,” Tim said, mouth popping on the ‘P’. Jon sank down onto the stack of bagels, looking so defeated that Tim felt a pang of guilt. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to …"

“It’s fine,” Jon said, scrubbing a hand through a tangle of his hair. “It’s not like I _want_ to keep it a secret, I just …"

Tim hummed, taking a seat on a cardboard box. “Sooo. How’d you two meet?”

A small smile quirked Jon’s lips. “Here, actually. He forgot his tea and I ran it out to him. He’d come in a few days a week and we got to talking and ...”

“Figures _you’re_ the one that gets the start of an indie novel romance,” said Tim, giving his shoulder an affectionate shove. “But why go all the way out there if you’re only spending a few minutes together?”

“His schedule changed. And with my night classes and dissertation and he has a second job and needs to work weekends …” Jon released a deep breath through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s pretty much the only time we have to see each other.”

Tim’s heart panged. If anyone deserved a quaint but sweeping romance, it was Jon, loneliness clinging to him like a second suit. And of _course_ it was almost impossible for them to spend any real time together. Tim was convinced that Jon’s luck stat was somewhere in the negatives.

Well, if fate wanted to be a bastard, Tim wasn’t going to just stand by, _no thank you._ He reached into his pocket.

“Here you are.” He jingled his car keys, earning a bewildered expression. “It’s like a thirty minute bus ride, yeah? But it’s only ten minutes by car. So that’s like an extra forty minutes right there!”

“Tim, I couldn’t– the petrol–”

“Oh, please. I owe you more than enough for all those study session pantry raids anyway.”

“But what if there’s a delivery–”

“We’ll worry about it when we worry about it. Just say yes, okay?”

Jon’s lips pressed into a tight line, staring at the keys. Then, a slow smile spread over his mouth, and he looked down shyly at his feet.

“I really appreciate it.”

He conceded rather quickly; Tim had been expecting the typical 'I'm-Jonathan-Sims-and-I-don't-need-help' spiel. This whole thing was more serious than he could have realised. He slipped the keys back into his pocket. “Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone? We could’ve helped sooner.”

Jon stared at his shoes for a long time, before, eventually, he let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I feel like if I … _looked_ at it too hard ... I might jinx it, or something.” He gripped the fabric of his knees. “This just means so much to me.”

Fit to burst with emotion, Tim leaned over and scooped the little man up in a crushing hug.

_“Tim–”_

“Sorry! It’s just … nice to see you like this.”

Jon grumbled under his breath, but then, slowly, gave up, leaning his head against Tim’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“I’m going out.”

“Look alive!”

“Wha–?”

But the car keys bounced off of Jon’s forehead, falling to the ground with a clatter.

 _“Tim!”_ Jon snapped. _“_ My hands are _full_ . Did you expect me to catch it with my _teeth?”_

“Sorry,” Tim said with a wince. “Got a bit over excited. My bad.”

Rolling his eyes, Jon put down the cardboard beverage carrier and scooped up the keys. With one last exasperated glare, Jon shouldered his way out of the shop.

“What was all that about?” asked Sasha over a sink full of soapy dishes. “You know where he’s running off to?”

Tim shrugged, humming as he put together a frappe. “Well, you know, it’s like you said. He’ll share when he’s good and ready with the–”

“Is he seeing someone?”

Tim whirled around, nearly dropping the drink. "I– wha– what makes you think that?”

“Well, your reaction just now, for one thing. But he was just carrying _two_ cups of tea just now.”

Oh. Yeah, a little sloppy of you, Jon. Or maybe he just wasn’t trying to be as secretive anymore. “I’m sure he’ll come out with the full scoop soon.”

“Are they nice?” said Sasha. “He’s happy?”

Tim smiled.

“Yeah. I think he is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry I've disappeared this last month. I've been working on a big TMA fic, the first chapter of which I'll be posting tomorrow. Keep a weather eye out!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [@athina-blaine](https://athina-blaine.tumblr.com/).


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